


Prague

by SophieD



Series: Backstory on Sophie and Tara [6]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Date Night, F/F, Girls Night Out, Prague, Relationship(s), Thief, con artist, leverage - Freeform, Česky | Czech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieD/pseuds/SophieD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara is still mad at Sophie for leaving her in Italy.  She says they won't ever be friends again but they can still hook up.  Does she still love Sophie?  Can she live with the new arrangement?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prague

**Author's Note:**

> This story fills in the spaces between Paris and Paris Part Deux and explains where Tara is at emotionally when she comes to London for her and Sophie's first date night. While this story takes place before London in the timeline but should be read after.

Prague, summer 1999

“We shall call them date nights.” She says matter of factly as she slips back into her clothes. “Just a time when we can get together somewhere and, well, do what we do. No strings. No attachment. Just sex. I’ll call you. Does this sound OK?”

I nod. I’m only half paying attention. My body is still vibrating from the night before. I’ve never had sex like that before in my life. It was wild, crazy, I’ve never felt so alive. At the same time I feel like crying. There was no talking and no tenderness, nothing that touched my soul. I wasn’t with her. It could have been anyone in the world.

“Ok. So then I guess I’ll call you. Soon. Someday”.

I nod again. She reaches for my hands and a kiss then thinks better and lets go. She leaves me without a good-bye. Again. I didn’t see her tears as she pulled the door closed behind her.

I stayed in Paris a few days more. I wandered the Louvre and thought about which paintings would I steal if I was into paintings? Which would she steal? I went to visit my friend at the bookstore. I brought him wine and pastries. He was happy to see me. How was my friend? What was her name? Jennie? He told me how much he liked her. I told him I liked her too. Yes she had left town. No I didn’t know when she might be back. Too bad, he had a book he wanted to give to her. I told him I would take it to her. I didn’t tell him I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from her again.

I am in The Czech Republic now. I have a buyer looking for a certain type of diamond. One that currently resides in a safe in Prague. I’ve been watching the gentleman who owns that safe. I’m working on a plan to get to know him better. He doesn’t seem to be too interested in women so I need to find a different angle. I’m thinking insurance agent. I will need to check to make sure his diamond is the real thing. First I need to get a hold of a friend who makes diamonds and other precious stones. His forgeries are very good. Good enough maybe to swap with the real thing. He is not quick though so I find myself with time to kill in Prague.

  
I am staying at The Hotel de Palais. I’m not really into the fancy hotel thing. I prefer the practical over the opulent but this is where she would stay. She would be impressed by the historic architecture, the 5 star service and the over the top luxurious rooms. It’s a waste of money as far as I’m concerned. I’m not sure why I felt the need to stay here. Hoping that she might show up? No that’s ridiculous.

  
I was so angry with her when I saw her in that bar in Paris. I wanted to tear her down, make her hurt like she hurt me. It hurt me even more when she lied to me again about her name. Jennie. I knew that was a lie. I told her I knew it was a lie and she still wouldn’t tell me the truth.

I tried to hold onto that anger. I didn’t want to get sucked in by those dark brown eyes, the soft curves of her body. I pretended that none of it meant anything to me. That we were over. It would be about me now. And her. Alone. That’s what she wanted right. “I work alone. Always have. Always will.” As I watched her dress and walk out the door, I knew that I could never stop loving her. This is ridiculous, this lovers but not friends idea. Why would I ever say anything like that? Maybe I thought that she would reject the arrangement outright. Beg me to forgive her. Promise me that she would do whatever it would take for us to be together again. Deep inside I knew that would never happen. I knew she would be OK with the arrangement. It fits her style, probably what she wanted all along. Is that why I said it? Was it the only way I could be sure I would hear from her again?

I have been in Prague for almost 3 weeks now. I keep calling my guy and he promises he will have my diamond for me soon. He will call me. I will fly to Bulgaria and collect it. For now, I just need to wait. I’ve been wandering around St Wenceslas square. It’s an interesting place, modern restaurants and clubs and sit among historic buildings and fascinating history. A large statue of the Saint himself sits on his horse and watches over his namesake. Many American film companies are coming to Prague to film and I can see why. The food is incredible, the people are friendly and the city is awe inspiring. Still, I am bored. I’m not used to sitting still. Waiting. I like to move. I need adrenaline. I need action. Hanging out around a hotel room is not my style. Well, not unless I’m with someone. I feel a sharp pang of desire and despair move through me.

I think I understand her better now. She isn’t being mean or arrogant. She’s scared. I know that now because I am scared too. I’ve chosen a life full of lies and if I’m not careful they could swallow me up. The part of me that is still me, the part that can love and trust another person, that part could just disappear leaving me nothing but a life full of cold objects and loneliness. I wrap that piece of me tight and keep it deep inside of me. I can touch it when I need to be grounded, to be reminded that I am more than the stories I tell. Maybe she feels that way about her name. Maybe it’s the one thing left that she can hold on to. The only part of her that is still real.

  
I’ve been wandering around my room, resisting the urge to call my forger, an Italian movie on in the background. I think my head may explode with boredom. Someone please save me! A knock on the door startles me and I jump. At the door is an adorable young man, no more than 12 or 13, dressed in a tuxedo, his hair slicked back and a big smile on his face. He’s holding a red rose and a folded card. He bows slightly and says to me in his best English,

“Miss. For you. Thank you.”

He hands me his treasures, bows again and disappears down the hall. I put my rose in a water glass and give it a big sniff. I’ve never been a big admirer of flowers, especially roses, but this one smells heavenly. I sit on the edge of the bed and contemplate the card.

  
Who would know I am in Prague? No one, I don’t think. Is it from her? I feel a tight sensation in my stomach. How would she know where to look for me? I laugh at that. Of course she would be able to find me. I imagine she can find anyone or anything that she wants. Is it me that she wants? Or is this just a call for sex. What do they call that?? I will have to open the card to find out but I am scared. What if it’s not from her? What if it is just a “date night” under the rules that I proposed and she embraced? If so, why the rose? What does that mean? Does that mean she still loves me? Isn’t that what a red rose is for? The suspense is killing me but I still can’t get the courage to unfold the note. My heart is racing and I find it hard to breath.

  
Well this is silly, sitting here obsessing about nothing. I slowly open the card.

_**Please accept this flower and an invitation to our first date night.** _   
_**A car and a plane will be waiting for you tomorrow morning** _

Ok. That didn’t help. I still don’t know what her intentions are but I am thrilled to know that I will at least get to see her. Maybe I can explain to her why I said what I did. How I didn’t mean it. That I would be whoever she wanted me to be whether that be a lover or a one night stand.

I hardly sleep at all, fear and excitement and joy and a million other emotions all fight for space in my brain.

  
Its 7 am and I am up, showered, dressed and ready to go. Damn note didn’t say what time I should be ready. I’m not sure when I’ll be back so I pay for to keep my room for at least another week. I contact my forger and let him know I will be away for a few days but I will call him as soon as I return. I have no idea if or what I should pack so I just throw in a few casual things.

I check the clock. 7:15. Damn.

  
8:30 I’m climbing the walls.

9:00 I’m wondering if it was all just a cruel joke.

9:30  I am ready to do anything but sit in this damn hotel room.

9:45  a knock on the door.

Finally.

It’s my little cutie from yesterday. He’s got his tux on again, his hair is still slicked back and his face has been scrubbed clean. He’s as happy to see me as I am to see him. He bows his cute little bow.

“Hi miss. We go?”

I smile at him and give a little bow of my own.

“Yes we go.”

He beams. I take his hand and we walk together down the hall to the elevator. He leads me to a car at the curb in front of the hotel. He bows again.

“You go Miss. Thank you.” I give him a little kiss on the cheek and slide into the open car. My little gentleman blushes as I wave goodbye.

  
My driver delivers me to the airport with a plane ticket and a promise that another driver will be waiting for me when I get to London. I offer him money but he assures me that he has already been well compensated for his time.

  
So London. Is that where she’s from? She’s uses a British accent. I suppose I’m just assuming she’s from England though. I have no idea really what accent or even what language might be her natural. I’m not unhappy with my destination. I like London. I’ve always found the reticent British people to be an interesting contrast from the Southern hospitality I was raised with.

  
From the time the plane lands in London, I am whisked on a whirlwind afternoon all ending with me being deposited in front of a restaurant, wearing a gorgeous green gown and still not a clue what is going on. Are we on a date? A real date? Or is this just another one of her elaborate games? Am I her mark? Her target? Someone to be used on the way to her goal? Well, if I am then I suppose it’s my own fault isn’t it? I feel tears coming. I think hard for a moment. What do I want? What am I willing to do? Does any of this matter? Honestly, no. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to open the door and I’m going to go to her in whatever way that she wants me now. I will save my tears for later. I take a deep breath to try to slow my racing heart and I open the door.

 

As soon as my eyes find hers, all of my worries and doubts disappear. The woman I see is humble and thankful and so very beautiful. She’s doing what she can to make this better for me, for us. I don’t know yet what I will say to her but I know that it’s going to be OK.

**Author's Note:**

> I love commets, especially those telling me how brilliant I am. Constructive criticism is also welcome.


End file.
